


Method Actors

by Ribby



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-17
Updated: 2003-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribby/pseuds/Ribby
Summary: There's a method to their madness...but how deep does it go?
Relationships: SB/VM
Kudos: 1





	Method Actors

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](https://lannamichaels.livejournal.com/profile)[](https://lannamichaels.livejournal.com/)**lannamichaels** for quick and helpful beta.  
> 

1\. Viggo

Viggo was a method actor. It was fairly common knowledge. And once they knew that, people often wondered how much of his characters he carried with him after a film was finished, how many of his traits and eccentricities (and there were many) were a result of having all those other lives in his head.

People wondered, but only a few knew. Most of the Fellowship had come face-to-face with Aragorn several times after the cameras stopped rolling, and shrugged it off as just being a "Viggo thing," or understood it as just one more symptom of the intensity of the project.

But Sean knew, more than anyone else. Knew intimately, to be exact.

Knew the heat of Lucifer's kiss, the burning intensity of his eyes, the fiery pain-pleasure of his cock pushing into Sean's body, claiming and owning, burning a path every time. Knew of the intimacy of the Seven Deadly Sins: wrath as Lucifer teased him until he begged; greed and gluttony as he begged for more. Harder. Now. Knew lust as he was given just what he asked for; envy at Lucifer's ability to make him scream; pride that he could do the same to Lucifer with his willing submission; and when it was all over, sloth as they rested, sated, side by side.

Knew the command in Aragorn's voice, even in the gentlest tones, as he put his Steward in his place--at Aragorn's side, on his knees to his King. Knew the hands of a healer wound tightly in his hair as he served his King to the best of his ability, worshipped him until he was filled with the essence of Elessar. Knew the gentle request (though still a command) of his King to give his body as well as his heart to his King's submission. He would submit willingly to no other; but for his king, anything.

Knew the manic, dangerous gleam of Frank's tight-edged smile, usually a portent of violence... a hard, fast struggle for dominance (which Frank always won), followed by a hard, almost brutal fucking that would leave him sore (but not unpleasantly so) for a day afterward. Knew that he'd lose the battle for dominance every time, but unable to submit without a fight.

Knew the tenderness of Walker's generous smile, the gentle touch of his hands and lips as he mapped Sean's body, leaving him wrung out and trembling from his intense focus on Sean's pleasure. Knew that the smile always held a hint of sadness, as Walker would always be second-best, and he understood that. Understood, and still managed to give Sean everything.

And best of all, he knew Viggo, who was one and all of those, brought together into the maddening, eccentric, quirky Renaissance man he loved.

So when Sean overheard the speculations about Viggo, he smiled. After all, what need was there to speculate, when he knew?

2\. Sean

Viggo knows Sean's not a method actor the way he is. Sean doesn't tend to dwell in his characters the way Viggo does, doesn't become his characters like Viggo does. But that doesn't mean they aren't there with him. One night, late and somewhat drunk, Viggo had complained about sharing his brain space with too many other selves. Sean had agreed, drink slurring his accent almost beyond the point of comprehension. "Know whut y' mean, mate...some o' the buggers, can't get 'em out of me head, no matter how hard I try. And it's usually the nasty ones, too."

At the time, Viggo thought it was just the night and drink talking. Now, he knows better. Knows the joy of sparring with Richard Sharpe, all blurred vowels and dropped consonants, the rough edges of his speech almost but not quite Sean's own. Sweat on tanned skin, and blood flowing when he misses, and the sharp smell of grass under his knees as he yields to Sharpe's sword at his throat, and then to Sharpe himself. Knows the pleasure of that hard body pressing him into the grass, wicked green eyes smiling and mouth shaping words to make any soldier blush.

Knows the heat of arguments with Boromir of Gondor, honor and duty and blood-bound oaths, arguments that end with Boromir reaffirming his place as Gondor's protector... and Viggo submitting willingly to Boromir's anger.

Knows the dangerous dance of Alec Treveleyan, riding the knife-edge of arousal and fear, as he is pressed up against a convenient wall in darkness, smooth British syllables teasing his ear as he is held immobile, the sharp pain of not-quite-ready entry-but Viggo knows better than to complain. Knows the sound of his own voice pleading with Alec to finish it as he's drawn closer and closer to the edge, but not allowed to drop. Knows the rush of orgasm after being denied for so long, and the guttural syllables of Russian growled into his ear as Alec comes as well.

Knows that there are more than those three, most of them "the nasty ones," but knows, as well, that Sean will never hurt him, never let any of his characters take over so completely that he cannot recognize Viggo.

And Viggo wonders, with a twinge of regret, if he can ever promise Sean the same.


End file.
